


clara

by noonlighted



Series: dream smp fics [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Dream Smp, Lonely TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Other, Suicidal TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), adopted by philza, clara/chirp, galaxy tommy, mcyt - Freeform, no beta we die like my eyesight, sbi, shut up, starinnit, tommy's a demigod au?, yes this was inspired by that one fucking line of dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28135284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noonlighted/pseuds/noonlighted
Summary: A woman made of stars comes to visit Tommy on his dirt tower.
Series: dream smp fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055483
Comments: 6
Kudos: 220





	clara

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by @trickszie's starinnit au.  
> i've listened to chirp so many times i think i'm going insane.  
> p.s yes this is based off that one goddamn line that tommy said about chirp sounding like a female astronaut. shut up.

It’s dark. It’s so dark.  
The night makes no effort to comfort the boy as he sits shivering on his dirt tower.

Everything’s gone. Logstedshire—it was never really his home, but close as it was ever going to get, and now it’s gone. Tommy wonders if he’ll ever be able to keep anything he loves.

Fire from the tiki torches blazes red and awful, but he’s too far to feel the heat. He can see the damage, though. The huge holes in the ground. The ripped tent. Everything’s gone. It’s dark and cold and everything’s gone. Everyone’s gone.

He closes his eyes.

A stab of white lights stains the inside of his eyelids. There’s a woman in the sky, tall and argent and lovely as the first frost. He blinks, unsure whether he’s seeing things. But the woman remains, corporeal as the dirt he sits on.

“My darling,” she says, and she’s crying. “My little chirp.” He can feel her hair brush against his face, black as ink.

“Who are you?” he whispers. She laughs, and the tiny supernovas that hang from her long elf-like ears seem to laugh with her, high and twinkling. Silver arms wrap around him, and suddenly he’s floating, floating across the ocean in the arms of a stranger. No—not a stranger. How could he forget?.

The sky teems with light.

A memory flashes before his eyes— _it’s his birthday, and they’re flying over a lake that’s as still as a mirror, and the stars are falling. He’s laughing, clasping and unclasping his tiny fists, watching the bright lights fall from the sky and dropping into the water. She catches one as it falls, a bright, blazing white, and presses it into his palm. He falls into awestruck silence._

Her eyes are dying stars, brilliant and sad. “What’s happened?” she says, and he feels three years old again, when he would sit him in the bend of the crescent, and scold him for keeping the stars awake during the day.

The words seem to wither in his throat. He starts to cry. Her arms are strong and warm as she holds him (she’s kept the stars burning for centuries, a kid can’t be so different).

“I don’t know,” he says, closing his eyes. “I—I don’t know.”

When he opens his eyes again, everything’s different. He knows this place. Greystone bricks. Flowers, sprawled over the lawn in desperate clumps. The attic window—his window, where he would crawl up next to at night and watch the silver moon rise. "Home.” 

No. It’s not her home. It’s not where she raised him, in those short, sweet years under Orion’s fingertips, where she would tell him stories of the bears and wolves and heroes. But it’s his. She places him on the doorstep, the same way she did nine years ago.

“Stay,” he begs.

She wants to—she wants to so deeply that she can feel the sky start to shift. But she shakes her head, brushes the hair out of his eyes. A kiss on his forehead, a last look into his eyes. “My little astronaut,” she whispers, and he smiles through his tears.

When Philza opens his door in the morning, he finds his son, covered with dirt and blood. And there’s a strange white mark on his forehead, in the shape of a teardrop.

“Thank you,” he says to the sky. “For bringing him home.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is kind of bad but i wanted to try something different, okay? let me know what u think <3


End file.
